I sit her in this dark room, listening to the sound of oxygen pushed through a tube. To the sounds of iv ticks, I didn’t know existed not so long ago. To the sound of Jennifer quietly whimpering in her sleep as she tries to breath.
The tiny tree glows in the corner of her room. I haven’t put the decorations back on because I fear I will angrily pull them off if they move her to another place in the hospital. But I let the light fill the room and refuse to unplug it even as we sleep.
I try to wrap my head around tonight why she must suffer like this. And why I must watch. Why I am apart from so many I love in this room the nurse says they try to make it feel and look like home. She doesn’t know what she is talking about. The nurses want me to not stand close by and attend to her every need but who are they kidding? What else would a mom do in a time like this?
I try to not scream when I hear or read someone complain about something to me now seems so trivial. Why can’t they see how blessed they are? I want to be blessed in this moment the same.
God forgive me for my doubt and anger. I am trying to trust. But I’m hurting like nothing I’ve ever known
Rally Together With Jennifer 